A Demon's Fate
by Hagne
Summary: When a king without a throne, enslaved, is back to the fore. When the Gods, breaking the rules, commit blasphemy. When what was not supposed to exist is born. Then begins this story. A tale of love, hate, bitterness and growth. Because the boundary between good and evil is labile, precarious, and not always what it seems right, it really is.
1. Chapter 1

- _We should not be here._

- I just want to see it, Sif, stop to be so damned fussy –complained Fandral with a bit of sourness, throwing a glance of understanding to Hogun and Volstagg whom slipped into the room with soft and quiet steps, insofar as their size would allow them to do so.

Then, with a sight of discouragement Lady Sif forced herself to enter the room, although the upset grimace on her lips showed her reticent to follow them in that show of stupidity.

Because you had to be_ indeed _stupid to want to go against Odin's words only to satiate a pathetic curiosity.

Yet, when the Tesseract showed itself in all its magnificence, even the amazon could not help but soften her lips and agree that yes, it was a beautiful object, and yes, even she was curious to see it with her eyes.

In grasping the slight soften of Sif's features, Fandral pulled off a smug smile that convinced the two warriors to approach their faces to the sheet of ice which embraced the powerful cosmic cube, _curious._

After all, it had been many years since Thor, after capturing Loki, brought back the artifact in the hands of the Gods, and since then no one had been allowed to approach it, for obvious reasons.

But Fandral wanted to have a look at the object that had caused the war between worlds.

However, he was almost disappointed by it, because the Tesseract was so small that it can be tight in the palms of his hand, and beyond its blue light, it does not seem to be particularly compelling.

Even Hogun the Grim, usually so taciturn, expressed his discontent puffing a loud asgardian curse that made Volstagg grin.

- Well, now that you have finished with your stupid game I think that…- but the sound of footsteps outside of the room froze Lady Sif, turned pale after realizing that one of those idiots had left the entrance slightly ajar.

- Who goes there? – shouted a guard from outside, but none of the four warriors answered, too busy to find a justification for their heinous act.

But the fear of being discovered, _punished_, led Volstagg the Voluminous to fidget in panic with a little too impetus, so that he collided against the pedestal that began to tremble for his impressive size.

Only then Fandral seemed to realize the damage, and even before lady Sif could lift the cube to avoid the impact with the floor, the warrior stretch his hands forward, but in vain.

When the cosmic cube touched the floor, it issued discharges bluish that flung the gods against the four wall of the room, drawing the attention of the guard outside the door.

Lady Sif, however, was too quick for them.

With some effort she threw herself on the pedestal, raising the Tesseract and putting it back in place with all the care possible before launching an irritating look at his companions and mimic a stifled groan.

And although she did not love to lie, that day she was forced to do so.

When the guard were made aware that a stranger had tried to steal the cube, and the most, that he had managed to destroy the power of the strongest warriors of Asgard, the panic scattered like wildfire in the kingdom.

The room was rendered inaccessible even for the gods, so that no one, not even Odin could get in, thus avoiding that someone could steal again the powerful artifact.

But no one noted that there was something strange in that room, and that the profile of the Tesseract had become vacant, faded, the reflection of a very small figure who looked with big eyes, black spheres that contained prisms of evanescent colors, the sealed door.

The little girl with rainbow hair that, curious, watched the darkness of her prison and the reflection of herself enclosed in a glass case of ice.

Because even the Gods make mistakes, just like humans, but if those of humans had an impact of short-range, relative only to their world, those of the gods would have a interplanetary backlash with aftermath that would have involved, once again, a king without a throne, and the heroes of a world considered by most defenseless.


	2. Chapter 2

_- _**Disclaimer: The Avengers and all its characters are not mine. **

**Just to give some more information about the story, it will consist of 15 chapter which will be updates every three/four days**___– _

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The monotony of that place was beginning to bore her, though, since she was still a child, she could find funny even the little creatures that jumped cheerful between the walls of the sealed room.

Yet, the stale air had become unbearable, and, if she closed her eyelids, she could see the faded memories of a green world filled with flowers, blue skies and uncontaminated landscapes.

However the fear for the unknown threatened her curiosity of child, because birth alone, in a vacuum and in the darkness would frighten anyone, even the men she had heard talk every day outside her room.

It was precisely in hearing their voice become distant that the child sketched small steps, falling when her legs collapsed.

She let out a frustrated whimper, observing badly her lower limbs that did not behave as they should, even if the obviousness of that fall was attributed to a simple fact.

No one had taught her how to walk.

No one had explained to her what her legs and arms were for.

No one had explained to her _what she was._

Then she closed her eyes, squinting the eyelids to call to her mind the sketched paintings of past events that she did not remember or knew to have in her head, but when the sight of a man running was framed by her brain, the child stood, swaying a little but being able to remain standing after some effort.

Her eyes focused in the dark the lightest part of the room, and when she ran against it, she does not slammed as she should have, because the intangibility of her being made her fleeting as a breath of fresh air, and when the long and empty corridor welcomed her tiny and frozen feet, no one seemed to pay attention to her.

The strange odor of the prison had disappeared, replaced by a coolness that tickled the strand that curled on the chest of the child, curious and attracted by the bright colors of the gold walls.

The little thing did not know how were named those great pillars that held the strange ceiling, she knew only the name sketched by her mind, but she did not understand the meaning, the _reason,_ nor understood why that place continued to be so dark, cold and unpleasant.

She had seen green meadows, flowers and crystal waters, but the loneliness of that golden cageseemed to branch out to infinity, almost as if there was never an end to that eerie sense of abandonment.

And even if she was freed from a place with a musty smell, she found herself in a prison a little less narrow, suffocating, but equally oppressive.

A prison, anyway.

Then, in wandering around with a curious look, her eyes fell on the only point of light that she could glimpse at the bottom of the amber tongue that slid forward, but when the lantern showed the swaying shadow of a huge and grotesque figure, the child felt a strange sensation squeeze her chest.

A bizarre sense of loss that made her turn pale while that figure was approaching her.

In a momentum of what her mind catalogued as _"fear" _she headed at a brisk pace towards a wall, throwing herself into it when a man's voice brought her to whine for fright.

She crossed doors, lumbered for a long spiral staircase that descended like a snake of stone to the deeply prisons, and when, with a last effort, she threw herself inside a dark room separated from the outside by long shiny bars, the darkness swallowed her, _again._

Down there it was colder that above, where she was used to swing, waiting for something to happen, and the only light was generated by these strange bars that the child watched from the corner of the room with a certain diffidence.

_Because she did not know what they were._

She did not know their derivation, their cause or effect, like most of the things around her. Indeed, she was ignorant about the functionality of her own limbs, about the reason she would hear a loud _tum-tum_ echoing in her chest.

And the _fear_ was the first emotion that made her feel strange, surrounded_, hunted_.

She crawled quietly for a few yards, grimacing in perceiving under the palm of her hand a rough fabric, but not as, according to her memories, would have to be the floor of a room.

With little fingers she felt the ground, succeeding with some surprise to tighten the floor in her little hand, and when she felt the earth shake under her feet she instinctively rose her face, crossing in the dark two bright spots, fluorescent like the bars, but of a blue ice that was _scary._

The curiosity was able for a moment to dampen the feeling of panic, but when those bright spots narrowed into thin lines of cold wind, she gave a little scream, burrowing in the opposite corner and covering her face with her little and trembling hands.

It became pitch dark, because the bars had gone out like candles, and the only source of light continued to be those blue spots that the child stared through her frost fingers.

They had returned to their normal form, round and a little stretched on the sides, and although the bars had lost their blinding color, the little thing was surprised to note something else beyond those bright spots.

She saw two folded arms, restrained by a strange object that seemed to hurt his tied wrists, and also a pair of legs as hers, although a bit longer, abandoned on the soft floor that something in her head cataloged as _"cloak"._

And if she looked a little higher, she could even see a head.

She did not know how were named the other parts of the face, but feeling her own she realized that he was like her, even if a strange _"thing" _covered his mouth, hiding part of the "_nose"?_ , she could not remember what its name was, actually.

Yet, she could see him in all that darkness, and soon she discovered, with some surprise, that_ she _was glowing like the bars, and that _she_ was to illuminate the creature.

Curious, she clapped her little hand together to see how worked that strange glow that surrounded her, and when the contact between her _"fingers" _generated a strange hissing and little glimmers she cheeped a delighted laugh.

It took her a while to get tired of that new game, but his gaze brought her to look at him with a hint of curiosity.

He was very tall and thin, and covered most of the wall while she barely covered half of it, but he did not seem particularly interested in her, because he soon closed the bright spots and leaned his chin on his chest, indifferent.

Something stirred in her chest, a feeling of discomfort that brought her to stand up with her little hand closed into fists, but when a low and warm voice sneaked between them, the child ceased to spread out light and returned to observe the bars again back to shine.

The voice came to echo between the walls, but even before the creature could turn the corner she had already run away, intimidated and scared, going beyond the walls again to return to the safety of her dark prison.

Because in her prison no one talked, she was all alone, and _safe_.

Then, once there, she returned to clap her hands together, and when that colored light return to wrap around her again the child smiled to herself, casting curious glances at the walls.

Because she had learned what was a mouth, a nose and legs, had learned to run and to "_switch on_" herself, but above all, she had learned alone her first word.

The word that the warm and low voice lamented with a tinge of regret.

"_Loki_".

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"_The stubbornness"_ and _"the audacity" _were respectively the second and the third word that she had learned.

Obstinate in return, everyday, to visit the creature with the bright spots, and audacious in tackling the dangers of the corridors and the peril of the speaking creatures which roamed the prisons.

Besides, the habit of squatting in the corner and glare at the being with the strange "_thing_" on his face had brought her to leave her room to test new sensations that generated other _tum-tum _in her chest.

She in fact found funny the way in which that sound returned to repeat faster whenever she watched the creature, almost as she was "_excited_" at seeing who, a few night ago, her brain had called "_friend"._

"_Friend"._

That word had kept her awake whole nights, had occupied her thoughts and intrigued her mind always hungry of new answers, new questions.

And it was thanks to that creature that she had learned two new words.

Sometimes she crouched in a corner and raised two fingers to repeat and memorize the words, so that she did not forget what she had learned.

And whenever her mouth let out the words "_friend Loki_", the strange creatures looked at her with a certain fixity before returning to look away to the outside of the prison.

That day her "_friend_" seemed to have lost even the desire to look at her, and he continued to remain with the "_eyelids_" closed. Had happened even to her to close her eyes, but only because she was afraid of her surroundings, for no other reason.

And the thought that the creature could be afraid like her made her feel strange, "_sad_".

She leaned a little, touching with her little fingers the end of the "_cloak_", careful not to "_scare him_", because even she did not like to be afraid, she did not like it by no means.

The _tum-tum _in her chest was unpleasant in that case, and she did not want her friend to suffer the same.

Thus she crawled next to him with caution, observing with growing amazement the difference between their bodies.

The creature had long _long _arms, and he had "_something_" black to touch his face.

She went back sitting on her heels, reaching out a hand towards what she had on her head, and when she took between her fingers a light pink lock, her mind come to her rescue again.

"_Hair_".

She smiled softly in whisper that new word, looking at her _"hair_" with a positive emotion.

Then, she gently grabbed a lock of the "_hair of her friend Loki_", approaching his lock to hers to note the differences in shade.

Unlike her, the creature was all dark, as dark as his prison, "_black_" specified her mind, but she had began to appreciate the black and the dark, because it reminded her of him, and he made her feel safe, _protected_.

She pulled her own hair, overbalancing a little to be able to grab even those of the creature, but still, before being able to touch his cheek and reach the last lock, the bright spots returned to widen, to blind her with the cold of that color which she was scared of once and that now made her whiten in surprise.

"_Something_" catch her before the child could run away, the strange object which forced the arms of Loki to stand folded and which now crushed her back in a painful grip.

The feeling of fear brought her to beat her little fists on his chest with force, hoping not to feel the cold thing that was freezing her back, but Loki's arms were tight, _strong,_ and when she rose her face to apologize his clear eyes immobilized her, taking away her voice and fear.

Because he did not look evil as the faded images screaming in her nightmares.

He was not looking at her with anger, he was just watching her, passionless, with that light so "_sad_" to cause a new rhythm of her _tum-tum._

A rhythm that however did not hurt, but brought her to touch the cold cheek of her _friend._

The "_thing_" that hid his mouth seemed to make him suffer, and she also touched that, scratching with her fingertips the sensitive skin under his eyes, the bland and silly attempt of consolation of a child who knew nothing of her surroundings but who, in spite of everything, still wants to learn, _to comfort._

He was cold, but not as the bitter and painful cold of her prison.

His coldness was incredibly sweet, soft and steady as the shoulder against which she held herself with one hand.

Not even his arms around her back ached, they seemed only to hold her, so that she would not fall, so that she did not _hurt _herself.

Then she girded him with her arms, far smaller and thinner, crouching on his chest with a satisfied cheep that stifled against the rough fabric of the cloak.

And when, after a moment of uncertainty and stiffness, she heard him settle better against the wall and resting his sharp chin on her head, a rush of "_happiness_" set fire to her face.

She fell asleep against him, confident, curled gently on the chest that she felt raise and lower slowly under her little fingers, the chest that she felt "_breathe_".

After that night she did not return to her prison.

She did not even try to get out of the bars, she just spend her days to learn new things, to stare at her _friend Loki _and to observe the differences between their bodies.

And as in the days to came, that time she learned two other words, the fourth and fifth, the sweetest, those that made her happy.

"_Warmth_" and "_hug_".

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"_Change_" was the sixth word that she was forced to learn, and the first she began to "_hate_".

Not because she did not like its meaning, but simply because her mind had catalogued the new length of her limbs with that unique word, and she did not like that.

By no means.

She hated immediately that new term, she just wanted to forget it, to hide it together with her new arms and legs.

Because she had become too_ "long" _to fit in the small place formed between Loki's arms, too "_heavy_" to swing on his legs, too "_thin_" to be able to cover him like a blanket.

And she hated everything.

She hated hit the ceiling, hated fall whenever her new legs, not having learned yet that they needed a little more strength to make her stand, give away.

But above all, she hated to have become big almost as Loki.

He, however, did not seem surprised by it, nor frightened.

He stared at her as always, with the usual spark of fake disinterest that over time she had learned to "_love_", and it was exactly for that word that she did not appreciated her "_changes_".

Not being able to stand beside him like before irritated her, it made her unfriendly and furious, a feeling that, as the happiness, flushed her cheek and burned her chest.

But it also hurt, and she did not like the pain, as the fear.

Yet, thanks to that she had learned to recognize what she liked and did not, and he, her friend Loki was included in the first class.

She sat down with a frustrated snort, too focused to observe her own hand, considerably grown , to be careful to the noise out of the jail.

But when _that_ voicecame to call the creature in front of her the fear returned, wild, to devour her chest.

She was just about to hide behind him when she realized, with a hint of nervousness, that anyone could take note of her rainbow hair, or her long _long _legs, and the terror grabbed her.

She glanced full of horror to the corner of the corridor, feeling her legs tremble for fear when something pulled her down with force, and the dark enveloped her like a warmth blanket.

Thus the surprise gave away to the viscid sense of panic that made her curl up under the cloak with which Loki had covered her, careful not to make too much noise, because she was squeeze against Loki, hidden by his cloak, but a single movement could betray both, and the possibility to be discovered by that speaking creatures froze her.

- When will you stop looking at me that way brother? How much longer do you intend to hate me? – murmur bitterly the voice that long ago allowed her to learn her first word.

She became curious, suddenly, because it was the first time she heard someone talk so close, and the way in which that sound quaver in the air, in her ears, was nice.

- As long as it is necessary – was the dry reply of a colder voice, sharp and biting, the icy tone that she felt flicker in the chest on which she rested her ear.

At that point she could not prevent herself from shelling her eyes and snap in a nervous gesture her own arm upwards.

Loki's arms however were faster than hers.

With a painful movement he encircled her with his handcuffs, blocking her every move and forcing her to seek new space between his arms, not to waken too much suspicion.

But it was not the fear of being discovered to freeze her breath, but a new and ugly feeling that she had not had the chance to experience, a feeling that she would have preferred not to know.

After all, she did not like to feel her eyes string and have a painting breath and dry throat.

She did not like the "_disappointment_".

Because Loki could speak, but he had never felt the need to talk with her,_ she_ who wanted to learn how to do things, _she_ who wanted to know new things, but above all, _she_ who wanted to know more about him, _of him._

-You've had a long time to think about your misdeeds. Didn't you understand that your desire for revenge will not lead you to anything good?

She felt him twitch under her, "_stiffen_" advised her mind before Loki come back to relax under her fingers.

- It's not the good I look for, brother, but the power, _only_ that.

- I see the fact that you had lost the Tesseract and the battle do not have nicked you.

Something in her head began to scream, loudly, more loudly, so much to force her to release a moan that Loki was quick to smother against his chest, crushing her with his handcuffs.

A long silence followed his words, and when the sound of footsteps moving away brought the man to loosen the grip, she was fast enough to crawl away and come back on her feet, with her gaze away.

She did not turn to him, because she did not have the strength, the desire to do so, therefore, all that she did was throw herself against the wall and disappear into it, confused by the vortex of images that the phrase of the speaking creature had materialized in her mind.

And when she was finally safe in her prison she gave a little tap of hands, observing the halo of light for a moment, to "_warm up_".

Because she did not like _that _cold, it did not make her feel safe, but it was scary, _like the first time._

She waited a few more minutes before plunging the room into the darkness, watching with bright eyes the little being scamper for the walls of the prison.

But this time she did not find it funny, by no means.

Then she closed her eyes, squeezing hard her eyelids.

Because she was afraid, _again_, and hurt, and scared to think, scared to know, scared to ask why_._

Why he had not saying anything _to her._

Why he did not want to talk _with her._

Why_ she_ was no good.

After a couple of hours she managed to fall asleep for the first time without knowing how she did it, careless of the shadow outside the door and the blue eyes, hardened by premonition, that had seen the single flash of blue light darted in a room that, according to the rules, should have been swallowed up by the darkness.

_Always._


	3. Chapter 3

The unpredictability of fate was something too complicated for her understanding, an universal dogma that she, who was born from the case and the divine mistake could not understand in any way, prevent, in any way.

And yet, an inkling of the upcoming disaster grew and crept in her heart, a heart still too young and innocent to know that the pain that could crush it mercilessly could be caused from the one you love.

Anyhow for her there was never a reason to fear anything, not when she was with Loki who, despite his cold stare, had always taken care of her in his own way.

Thus go back to him, seek his company was natural_, inevitable_, even if her return to his cell had required three night made of thought, doubts, and uncertainties that she had failed to dampen, uncertain about what was good to do.

And while the wheel of fate turned against her, she went down the prison's stairs without knowing that its cycle of good and bad luck, pain and death, lies and truth would put her to test.

And it was exactly for that ignorance of hers, for her inability to understand and decipher her surroundings that the first sense of danger had begun to sting her chest when the bright spots of Loki continued to remain closed and hidden under his eyelids, as if he had not noticed her.

With a deep frown she touch unconsciously her belly, surprised to felt there so much pain to give her the impression that someone had just bitten it, an unpleasant feeling that led her to tighten her arms around her own body, waiting to be perceived by him.

Maybe he slept, but the rigid line of his eyes showed the effort of Loki to lie a state of drowsiness in her presence, a false claim that struck her with such force to unconsciously hold her back.

- Loki? – she called out with a voice that had softened with time, losing the high-pitched tone of when she was a child.

Even her hair had grown with a speed that she unknowingly felt normal although the transition from infant to adolescent requires more than two moons, normally, however she was not normal, but she could not known this.

Meanwhile, he did not answer her, continuing with stubborn firmness to pretend to rest, regardless of her eyes that without a reason began to moisten.

And she did not like that feeling.

- Loki? – she called again, this time with her voice cracking with a feeling of suffocation that her mind labeled as "_crying_".

A slight contraction of his lips, she had no more than that from him.

Not a suspicious yet observant look.

Not some form of attention.

It was as if he could not see her, as if did not _want _to look at her, as if all of sudden she had become invisible to his eyes and heart.

And that feeling of "_crying_" began to ask for an outlet, an escape.

When "_something_" cold and slimy began to wet her cheeks she could almost feel relief, a feeling of liberation that gave her a bit of breath from that "_crying_" that she had tried in every way to drive away.

But no one had taught her that the pain is not prey to compassion.

No one had warned her of how the indifference could hurt.

No one had been able to warn her, comfort her, _understand her._

Because she was born by an error, and the errors are paid, not justified.

_But she could not know this._

- Loki – she sobbed, exasperated by his silence, taking a step forward in not knowing what else to say, to do.

Because that was the only word she had never learned to repeat, _only that._

- Get out. And never come back.

She did not understand the meaning of those words, not because her brain refused to accept them, but simply because she does not know what they meant.

Yet, she still managed to come to a conclusion.

He did not want her there, he did not want to see her.

And suddenly the "_crying_" stopped before another feeling even more oppressive, even more heartbreaking led her to run away, eyes painfully squeezed for what her mind called "_torment_", but the rhythmic thump-thump in her chest was cataloged as "_fear_".

Fear of being back in the dark.

Fear of being alone again.

Because the deception was a divine and human capacity that she could not understand, recognize, least of all by a King without a throne who of lies was creator and god.

A god that everyone had always feared, hated, cursed, but a god who, once in a lifetime, had used his much despised art to do something good, _right, _keep away from himself the only creature that has felt pity and mercy for a tired and somber man, loveless and hardened from life to which that kind little thing gave a gentle and shy caress.

A naïve touch that no one, in that cruel and unfair world, had never granted him.

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"_Infinity_" was the first adjective that she was able to learn from experience rather than from reminiscence of the past, endless as were the tears that left her breathless and broken now that she was back in her prison of darkness and shadow, the small cage without neither light, nor voices.

Nor Loki.

A small corner of silence that only her sobbing crippled.

And it hurt all, especially that "_thing_" that emitted the restless and noisy thump-thump.

She felt her fingers tremble, her throat burn and a strange "_fear_" in the head.

Because "_fear_" for her meant pain.

And in her case she was afraid, terribly afraid and tired of everything.

Because she did not like to feel her face flushed with fear or her hand wet for those water drops that flowed from her closed eyelids.

She did not like anything now, not even learn new things.

Because few were the things that made her feel good, "_happy_".

Only the words "_warmth_", "_hug_", "_friend_" and "_Loki_".

"_Loki_".

"_Loki"_ who did not want to look at her, to hear her.

In a motion of impatience she let out a strange sound, like a forced breath, painful, but she no longer had a way to list what she did not like, what frightened her, because suddenly there were footsteps and voices outside the door, voice that were not the ones of the creatures that every day were standing for a little bit in front of her door before leaving.

No.

Among them there was _that _voice, the one that had taught her Loki's name, and the initial surprise gave away to fear when she saw the door open abruptly and a towering figure illuminate the threshold.

The golden light of the "_hair_" of that creature with legs and arms as hers was disturbing to her eyes, so accustomed to the darkness, and his bright spots were not as cold as those of "_Loki_", not indifferent but gentle as his.

They were large, brilliant and lit with horror, refusal and rage, by a disgust _for her_.

Even before Thor could grab her by an arm she was quick to jump back and pass through a wall with a horrified scream, surpassing the corridors that led to the spiral stairs and down to the jails.

But even before descending the first step the words of his friend returned to remind her that she was no longer welcomed there, that he had not wanted her before, he did not want her now.

Then, in remembering it, she decided to return to the surface clinging to the ledges of the walls that, all equal to each other, paraded before her eyes.

And she was just about to disappear beyond another wall when "_something_" grabbed her leg, slamming her to the ground with a force that tore her a groan of pain.

The view became a bit shaky, but she could see the rough traits of a large face and a massive body, as big as a "_bear_" compared her mind, but were not the physical characteristics of that creature to throw her into a panic as much as the feeling of being trapped under him.

The terror came upon her immediately.

She began to kick him with anger, scratching his face, hearing behind her many other steps of creatures such as the one who imprisoned her on the ground, other beings who wanted to do her harm.

The horror fill soon her eyes, her chest, pouring through her veins up to the fingertips, and something tore inside her, that sort of tourniquet that had held her whole until that moment, united, _compact._

The shock wave threw Volstagg against a column, blinding Lady Sif and Fandral who had come to his aid, and when the electric cloud cleared the warrior looked astonished to the fugitive who stared with surprise her own shadowy hands before turn the gaze on them while pure energy swirled furiously around her thin body.

But she did not give them time to intervene.

With a slight movement of her arms she flung against them a burst of energy sufficient to bring down on them the entire corridor, giving her the opportunity to escape unmolested to the gates of Asgard.

And while Lady Sif, released from the rubble with a cut on her eyebrow warned Thor of the direction of the Tesseract's thief, the god of thunder gave no sign of having heard her.

He only strengthened the grip around his hammer, ordering them to warn Heimdall to stop her at any cost.

Because the mind of the God was directed more than to the heavens of Asgard to its underground, there, in the dark slums where a renegade brother had protected the result of a mistake that was to be redeemed.

The traitor who, once again, would pay for his continuous misconduct.

Because with or without the permission of Odin Loki would pay for all the lives that he had cruelly ripped, and for the only one that instead, in another heinous and senseless act, he had decided to protect.

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.

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The Renegades did not have a future.

The Traitors did not felt pity.

The King without a throne should not have to care about a creature without a past or a name, yet, Loki felt his eyelids itch from the need to burst open and make sure to find the thin figure in front of him, there where she had been until then, where _she would always be_ if it was not for his words.

But Thor had understood, _he had seen_, and she would not be safe in the prison, not with a chained god unable to defend himself, much less a creature from another world.

Because he had understood that the strange child was not a native of Asgard, she could never be.

The blond that was a symbol of the people of that world was out of tune on the aquamarine skin of the girl, and the clear eyes of the gods would have disfigured in front of the flickering irises of the strange fugitive.

Alone like him.

Without a past, like him.

Different as he had been, once.

- Your madness does not stop to surprise me, brother.

Loki shuddered a little in hearing the hated voice of the god, but years of perfect indifference had made him immune to criticism, to the pitying glances that in the god of trickery generated more hatred, more grudge, more desire for revenge.

- What bring you here instead? Your pathetic attempt to get me back on the right path or is it just your ego to make you go down every day the stair of the prisons?

He had never had mercy on anyone, because no one had ever had mercy on him.

His eyes had not granted it.

His mouth had not granted it.

His very being would never have granted it.

Because, though he was the heir of cruel and revolting monsters he knew to be better than those hypocrites who were playing in their clouds of gold and gems regardless of the human's atrocities while he, _he _had understood that, had accepted that.

The truth about the world.

The truth about human.

Men indeed loved death, they longed for it, and he, in his boundless goodness had decided to please them.

He had tried to give them the freedom from the chains that enslaved them, he had even tried to led them into a new era, but Thor and those pathetic Avengers had stopped him, imprisoned him, _ humiliated him._

- And what brings you, Loki, to always do the wrong thing? – and suddenly, the tone of the god of thunder rose two octaves, reaching the roar of lightning, his servants – What led you to protect such acreature? You should be punished only for not saying anything about it!

That last sentence was enough to attract the interest of the chained god, that angry '_creature _that brought to the mind of the deity the image of two huge eyes shining with tears.

The handcuffs trembled when his hand began to fidget nervously while his panting breath condensed in the golden mask that oppressed his face.

- _What are you saying_?

Thor gave him a surprised look when it seemed to him to perceive a note of _real_ panic in the teasing voice of his brother, but he attributed that sound to a mere illusion, nothing else, as if it were possible that Loki could really feel the pain for the loss of a love, he who to love something, someone had never been able.

- I'm saying that you'll be punished in due time for leaving that thing roam undisturbed, regarding that thief instead, Heimdall is already working on her – and to confirm the words of the god a female scream burst in the air, a cry that ripped the silence and the imperturbability that lingered in the now anguished eyes of the god of deception.

And the terror grabbed his heart, his bones, his voice in imagining the gargantuan brother of Sif rage against her, so small, _so breakable_.

- _You, _how can you-

- It is the task of a god to protect his people from the dangers, and she is too dangerous to stay alive.

Words that knew of justice, but that right were not.

Words that chanting the lives of many, but condemned the life of another living being.

When Thor turned away Loki found himself shouting unrepeatable curses and surging in his chains with despair, frothing rage in an attempt to get rid of the handcuffs.

Then the sound of a thunder informed him of the horrible awareness that she was now surrounded by too many men who aspired to her death, too many enemies, cruel and rough man who would try to break her, alone, without someone to ask for help, with no one to defend her from a ignorance that had seen him as the first victim of it.

And thought the spirit of solidarity had never animated him, although Loki was known as a cruel being, mean, heartless, the thought of seeing _her_ lifeless to the ground had the power to _hurt him_, to ache a heart that, according to the legends, he would not have to possess.

And there was no place for anything if not for the desire to protect something that was dear to him.

And as the God of trickery he behaved.

Unprejudiced.

Insane.

_But right._

When the blood began to drip from his face the god was able to break free from the chains and the steaming mask with which he had tried to reflect the rays of energy of the bars against him.

And disfigured, bloody, he began to climb the first steps, holding on his scepter with both hands although his own blood would make his way slippery, but he continued to advance, regardless of a wound that beside the God of Deception, would guarantee him the title of Disfigured God.

A title that he would accept with an arrogant and wicked smile.

As he had done since his birth.

As he would continue to do until the end of his days.

.

.

.

.

"_Fight_" was a word that she had never learned, because the thought of hurt others had never touched her mind.

It was not right.

It was _wrong._

And yet, those creatures did not seem to feel sorry for her injuries as she panted in pain.

When the woman in front of her tried once again to sink the sword into her belly she was deft enough to roll back and dodge her with those blue sparks that her hands emitted at regular intervals, though she did not know what they were, or why that colored halo embrace her.

She did not understand the reason even if her brain continued to send back to her mind the word "_survival instinct_".

But she did not know what was the instinct, nor the survival.

Everything she knew were six words, but none of those would be helpful in that moment, not even repeat the only one that she had learned to say aloud would help her, because those creatures seemed to be "_afraid"_ of Loki, and she did not like it.

Because, even if he had shouted cruel words to her, he had never hurt her, had never dared to raise a hand on her.

He was always kind with her.

- Hold still, dammit! – barked Fandral, trying a lunge that went to empty when the creature spun around, hitting Hogun with a luminescent fist.

- Heimdall! – Sif cried, praying his brother to intervene, and when the guardian of the portal loaded his weapon to hit her, she was too slow to parry the blow.

She was thrown on the edge of the platform, sore and with a trickle of blue blood that dripped down from her nose, but the wound, as well as the previous, healed quickly under the angry gaze of the gods.

- She continue to heal herself! – groaned Hogun, coming up with a grunt of annoyance.

- Then we coul-

- Leave her to me.

When Thor made his appearance in a storm of thunder and lightning the four warriors stepped back, leaving him advance with eyes full of respect.

But she was staring at him with anger, not with respect, and even if she had know its meaning, she would continue to deny him it.

Because that person was _cruel._

He had tried to hurt her, he seemed to enjoy to mortify _Loki,_ and she could not forgive him for that.

- Why that look, creature? Do you really think to intimidate me?

She did not understand him, did not understand any of them, but of one thing she was certain.

They wanted to hurt her, "_kill_" as it kept to repeating her mind, a wrong word that led her to tighten her lips with a low hiss.

- How dare you look at me as if _I _were in error? You'll pay for your arrogance and for attempting to steal the Tesseract from me! – Thor roared, loading the hammer of all its power, a power from which she did not know how to defend herself.

So, all she could do was prepare herself to parry the blow with the only aids of her hands, but even before they could release energy a blinding flash sent back Thor's lightning.

And when Loki smiled to his brother with his teeth stained with blood and the right eyes red for the burst of its veins the gods in front of him threw a groan of horror.

- _You_!

Theirs was a curse.

A spell cast against a calamity that is returned to pounce them as the worst plague.

But what she saw was "_Loki_" bleed and breath with difficulty, one of his hand pressed on a face disfigured by his own madness, surrounded now by so much "_hatred_" so much "_fear_" to rattle her heart by the desire to defend him, to become his shield.

To be her, for once, to take care of him.

Something inside her begun to whistle while, tired but fierce Loki continued to protect her, a hissing sound that blew in her chest a heat that erupted in a bubble of light that swallowed her in a cloud of electricity.

Thor let out a gasp in disbelief, stepped back along with the warriors to avoid being stricken by the blue flame that had begun to whipping the air, hitting with ferocity the face of the god of lightning before tie around Loki's waist.

But on him the flames became thin and lean arms on which he lowered a tired and confused glance before turning and made eye contact with the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

Eyes full of a power capable to destroy him and Asgard with a blink of those long pale lashes, a power which he had recognized, because he had tried to possess it once, when the revenge and the hatred blinded him, but now that he had it, now that he could have his revenge, everything Loki wanted was that she did not stop to look at him.

Because her eyes had softened as if she was looking at something beautiful, something to _love._

Her fingers were incredibly gentle while tracing the wound, a caress that guided his face to match their forehead, allowing him to discover in her irises a world of colors made shiny with tears, tears that she was crying _for him, _and that thought was enough to snatch his breath away.

- She is-

- It's our fault – Sif whispered, attracting the look of consternation of Fandral on her – it's our fault.

- No – thundered Thor, his eyes hard and hollow – I'm your leader, your sins are mine.

- But- the amazon tried to contradict him.

- And I'm ready to fix my mistake solving the problem from its root.

Frame her face with his hands was necessary to have something to hold on now that Loki felt fragile and ready to break under the weight of that look, because no one had ever looked at him in that way, not with a love so deep to be enough to fill an eternity of loneliness, a void that no one had be able to fill, to patch up a wound that had never stopped bleeding.

And she would been able to do it, she would been enough for him.

Neither of them saw it coming, but when the electric discharge forced his hands to move away from her face Loki could not help but stare and see her fall back while Thor shouted him to get away from that monster.

But she was not a monster, not his brother's mistake.

For him she… she had been a gentle touch on a cheek that the world had ever slapped, a trustful look that saw something good that good was never for anyone, a stole beat of a frail and tired heart that her little hand had picked up from the ground, where it had been abandoned after being trampled so many times.

She was the smile that he had never been able to have, the hug that made him feel in the right place, the unconditional and innocent love that no one had ever had the courage and strength to give him.

She was everything, and she was his _now_.

So when a portal opened beneath her Loki held out his hand to grab hers, struggling to keep her with him in the fall, but he lost his grip because of the blood that stained his fingers, and even if he tried desperately to reach it before being separated from her, he could not help but be swallowed by a blue sky and a green lawn, from the only world from which he had been beaten.

The first planet to have seen him as the King without a throne.

Continue…


	4. Chapter 4

**- The parts marked with an asterisk(*) are taken from the film's dialogue, therefore they are ****not**** mine. - **

_._

_._

_._

_._

_* - Tesseract is misbehaving._

_* - Is that suppose to be funny?_

_*- No, it's not funny at all. The Tesseract is not only active, she's… misbehaving._

_She had never seen so many creatures with arms and legs all together, some even had long "hair" like hers, but she couldn't move, and one of them pointed against her a strange shiny spar, similar to those she had seen in Loki's prison._

_*- __We don't have the harness. Our calculations are far from complete. Now she's throwing off interference, radiation. Nothing harmful, low levels of gamma radiation._

_*- __That __can be harmful._

_They roamed around her with a strange light in their bright spots, perhaps fear, but her knowledge of the emotions was limited to "warmth" and "happiness", and none of them seemed to animate them._

_All of a sudden however, a nagging sense of itching bit her where the creature had just touched her, "teased" corrected her mind, an unpleasant feeling of discomfort that was beginning to give her annoyance, so irritating that some blue sparks gush against the creature who, frightened, stepped back suddenly, but he did not seem to want to give up, back instead to touch her with that thing that itched._

_They were more strange than those who she had seen in the hallways._

_They were less colorful, less frightening, but the creature who kept touching her was beginning to make her angry, and when at the nth touch with the spar she felt her side itch, a wave of frustration come over her._

_She tried to call Loki's name, but she realized with horror that she hadn't a voice to ask for help while that sensation of "warmth" became unbearable , so much so that she tried to curl up on herself to deaden the pain._

_But that was a "warmth" that increased, got bigger, hurt her, a__nd she was about to scream when-_

_*- __Sir, please put down the spear!_

_- _Do you think she is alive?

Jump up with dilated pupils and her fingers pressed on the spot which continued to itch came naturally, as it was looking around with anxiety for fear to find all those black people, but they had disappeared, replaced by a wide environment made of blue and green like the "thing" she had seen in her mind once, the pristine landscape that filled her eyes of a strange relief.

- Are you okay? – piped suddenly a small voice, and when her eyes focused the small figures at her feet a new wave of fear led her to jump back.

Yet, unlike the other times, she failed to disappear into the walls, _to hide, _because there were nothing behind which crouch, and the astonishment of not find anything with which defend herself made her stand out a leap even stronger, so that without knowing how she found herself in the air, frozen by fear and confusion in not knowing how she did _that._

- She can fly! – squealed with delight one of the small creatures, pointing at her with his tiny finger, eyes lit by a "happiness" that didn't reflect her mood.

Because she didn't know how she managed to jump so high, and, above all, she didn't know how to get down, she didn't understand, didn't recognize _anything_, but she could have asked "Loki" about it, she could hide behind _him._

Then she turned around with a little less fear, her eyes attracted by a "floor" of a strange color, a deep and _ugly _redthat reminded her so much the cloak of the "golden" creatures, the same color that soiled her right hand.

The one she had tended to Loki.

The one at the end of which she should have found _his_.

But he was not there.

Not next to her.

Nowhere else, _next to her._

And it was with icy surprise that she realized she was alone, surrounded now by little talking things who continued to give out those acute verses so unknown and "_tease_" her as the black man of her dream.

- What's it Estela? What-

- Further doctor! I and the others have found a person fallen from the sky! –cheeped a voice less shrill than others, almost "sweet", that convinced her to cast a glance over the little things' s head to see where that sweetest sound come from.

- From the sky?

The man let out a half-smile for the child's exuberance and fantasy, his eyes lit by laugh.

– What you say is not possible, a person cannot fall from the-

- Here! _She is_!

When Bruce Barner followed the child's finger aim firmly the sky he would have expected anything, but that, _oh_, that was not quite what he expected to find, or at least, he wasn't accustomed to find young girls floating in the air, much less find one who was staring at him with the same chilling horror.

The sight of a speaking creature of "normal" size brought back to her mind that feeling of danger that had driven her to "fight, but now she could not even get down from there, and in that way she didn't know how to defend herself, where to hide, how to banish the bright spots of that "thing" who stared at her with a certain fixity.

Just as Loki had done the first time.

- Children, go home.

- _But_- tried to oppose one of the smallest, but the man's serious look convinced them to sneak away with the tails between their legs, only Estela did not seem to be intimidated by the admonishing look of the doctor, lifting her chin defiantly.

- She is crying – complained the child, sketching a few steps to the girl with the strange skin who now had covered her face with a sob.

- Estela, don't-

- _But she is afraid_! - she whimpered again, raising her dark eyes on her "discovery".

When something soft touched her right leg she pulled her hand from the face with a certain reticence, finding that the "thing" that had touched her so gently was the hand of the little creatures who, jumping, tried to pull her down to a foot, an odd move that she didn't understand, but that "_thing"_ didn't seem evil or ugly, only "cute".

A little less intimidated she reached out, careful not to touch her too much, but when the little "thing" held out her hand a strange heat warmed her cheeks.

And she liked that warmth, it was familiar to her.

Driven by curiosity she closed her fingers on the tiny hand of the creature, recognizing the softness of her own palms, less cold than those of Loki, but reassuring, not wicked.

The little "thing" let out a sharp cry, not annoying like that of the other miniatures, hers was almost comforting, and she was about to calm down when the other creature, the larger one, tried to advance convincing her to shrink back abruptly, bringing with her the child.

She found herself to tighten protectively the little thing to her chest, careful not to let her fall like as she had seen Loki do with her when she was "shorter" and less "heavy" while the creature beneath her looked scared, continuing to throw odd glance at the little thing.

Maybe she was his.

Maybe she belonged to him, she did not understand it, did not know it, but finally she was able to understand something.

The only word in all those strange sounds that she recognized.

- Friend? – she repeated with a hint of indecision, observing the hand that the speaking creatures had stretched out.

The relief to see him nod vigorously convinced her to stretch her own hand, a gesture for which he showed between his lips a line of white things, brilliant.

Then, curious, she slipped a hand in her own mouth, touching the same things that he was showing with so much "happiness", and hold out her arm with even more conviction.

When the "thing" pulled her down she let out a scream of surprise, but when he touched her head with a slow motion that her mind called "caress" she surrendered, because that was a familiar act.

The"hug" was familiar to her.

And the speaking creature was embracing her, he did not hurt her, did not yelled stranger words at her, he just held her as Loki had done in the prisons.

But _he_ was not there, and she didn't like it, even though now she had found another "friend", a "friend" who, however, wasn't _Loki_ .

.

.

.

.

Being in Bruce's company was pleasant and soon became helpful for her knowledge of things.

He was kind, gentle and patient with her, with the "gaps" that he had tried to fill with many new words and drawings,

things that with him were simple to understand, funny and easy as it was learn what was a "smile", where and how to is it, and with him she used it often.

Because you smiled when you were happy, and she was happy and safe with him who had given her a "home" and an "education".

A new and different friend.

In fact he spoke more than Loki.

He was more "sweet" and less "cold", but she liked Loki's coldness as well as she liked Bruce's warmth.

He was nice and comforting just like his arms.

But there were still some things that she didn't like, such as the speaking thing that made her jump with fright when she had touched it, the object that she had disintegrated with an electric shot and that now she looked with suspicion.

That day she was alone because Bruce had been taken away by the little thing, _no_, by "Estela" she corrected herself, but before leaving, like every time he was away, Bruce gave their rules, what she had affectionately nicknamed the Three D.

Don't leave the house.

Don't talk to strangers.

Don't touch his things, and _that_ had always been the most difficult to comply with.

Because, even if Bruce had said that it was a normal thing to be curious, she was curious about everything.

She wanted to touch, smell, see anything, learn as fast as possible, but do things in hurry wasn't a good things, because of that you could make mistakes, things for which Bruce bended his back.

And she didn't like that, it was something she did when she was tired, and she did not want "Bruce" to get tired of her, but she didn't even want to make him angry for what she had done, therefore she tried to stick together the small splinters piling them one on another, but despite her best effort, that thing did not come to talk.

- What are you doing?

She had learned to recognize voices, and Bruce's was warm and soft as his "smile", it was "kind" and she liked kind things, a lot.

Hide what she had broken was therefore necessary, but she wasn't still so good at hiding things, so, when Bruce ran towards her a feeling of worry made her eyes and lips dry.

She let him grasping her hands, afraid to find disappointment in him, but when he lifted her chin to look her in the eyes she didn't see anger or tiredness, only a funny expression, _"concern" _explained her mind, and she did not know what concern was, but it saddened him, and she didn't like it.

- What happened to the radio? Are you hurt somewhere?

Bruce began to touch her face, arms and shoulder with trembling hands, "_frightened " _for something she did not know.

And he didn't care about what she had broken, she could tell by the way he looked at her, he seemed more concerned about her than the radio, and that confused her.

- "Hurt"?- she repeated, bewildered, observing Bruce's big hands slide gently on her arms.

Bruce seemed to think a moment before pinch his face and reddened his skin, but at the sight of that color so "ugly" she hastily pulled back his hands touching the red mark with her cold fingers.

- This is hurt – he said, covering her hand and the redness that she tried to make go away, and only then she seemed to understand.

- Fear – she corrected him, confident of her own words.

- No, not fear, hurt – Bruce repeated, but she did not accept that word, it made no sense for her, thus she shook her head vigorously returning to confirm what she believed it was.

- Fear.

That time Bruce did not contradict her, he merely tilt his head and turn up his lips.

And she did the same, because he was funny and she liked learn new things with him because his were "beautiful" things.

- You know my name but I don't know yours.

As most of the time she hear him speak she could not grasp the whole meaning of what he said, but when she saw him put a hand on his chest and repeat "Bruce" her first instinct was to imitate him.

And yet, she could not say anything, because she did not know what to say, actually.

She did not know what was a name or why "Loki" and "Bruce" had it and she hadn't, but it was unfair, it was weird, and to see her friend's smile fade a little she knew that it had to be a sad thing.

- You don't have a name?

She shook her head again, without knowing how else to respond and when she saw the bright spots of Bruce shade she was driven by the need to take his hands and tighten in hers.

Because there were something in her stomach that bothered her whenever she saw him sad, confused, afraid, an unpleasant sensation that like the "fear" she wanted to forget, did not want to feel anymore.

- Do you want one? – he asked kind, extending his hand on that "thing" full of papers on the small table chewed by quakes.

Recently she had learned to read thanks to the "books" on which Bruce explained with the figures her surroundings, what she did not know.

And although she had only learned a little more things when she saw him flip pages more colorful but with small and more difficult letters she craned her neck to see better.

It was an "old" book, it stank of stuffy like her prison, like the dark room with gold walls.

- I don't' know why, but I think we'll find a good name for you between the Norse legends.

Bruce had begun to "mutter".

It happened often when he thought or when he wrote difficult things made of "numbers" and signs that brought back something to her mind that she still could not grasp.

But she liked him mutter, he was "cute"and was pleased to hear him speak.

Bruce had really big hands, a bit rough but warm like the blanket in which she rolled before going to sleep next to him, hands that hypnotized her, especially when she saw it turn the pages.

It was nice to see, she liked it, but when she saw a familiar "figure" on the yellow pages of the book she gave an excited scream, stopping his hand before Bruce could turn the page.

- What? What did you…_oh_.

He didn't seem happy as she, but she could not help but smile, because Loki was there, on that book.

He was with her again.

- You like _him?_

Bruce's voice had changed, it was strange, "distraught" suggested her mind, but she didn't understand the reason, she just wanted to have Loki with her, again, even if in touching him he hadn't looked at her, even if speaking to him, he hadn't responded her.

But when she tried to pull Loki's "figure" Bruce stopped her by the arm, observing her first then the book open on his knees.

- You can't.

Her first_ refusal, _the first time that the annoyance led her to move nervously in his company while a new word stirred in her chest with that thump-thump.

- Mine- she chirped, grabbing the page with strength.

- But it's a book of the _XVI century_. I can't-

- Mine – she repeated, stubborn, staring at him with a note of pleading.

Bruce "chugged" with a tender smile starting to mutter in offering her what she wanted and when Loki was safely in her arms even she "smiled".

- Since you like the north's god so much how about Astrid? I think it means " loved by the gods".

She had begun to play with Loki and she didn't hear him although in each case she would continue to not understand, but when Bruce forced her to look at him he had her full attention.

- Do you understand what I said?

She "frowned" as she had seen him when he didn't understand something, continuing to tighten to her chest "her Loki".

Then he sighed a second time returning to pointing at himself and repeat "Bruce".

And she did the same, again, saying nothing, again.

But when his fingers pinched gently her nose a new word came out from his mouth.

A "beautiful" word.

- Astrid.

- A-Astrid – she repeated with confusion, pointing to herself like he was doing.

- Yes. I'm "Bruce" and you're "Astrid", it's your name.

_Name._

_Astrid._

She was able just to understand that, but that was enough to make her feel strange, she felt stifled and her chest ached as when the "cry" had made her run away from Loki.

But this time was different, it was sweet, nice.

She burst into tears with a sob tightening to her chest Loki and letting Bruce hug her tight, the way she liked, the way she loved.

And she learned that crying wasn't always painful, it's not always for "fear", but for something nice as Bruce.

Warm.

Gentle.

Sweet.

.

.

.

.

- _Monster_!

- I know.

A blue beam of light.

A startled cry.

A wicked smile, _smug._

When the man fell at his feet in a pool of blood Loki threw an absent-minded glance to the leaden sky, cleaning up in the meantime his scepter with nonchalance.

He hated humans.

They stank of fear, screamed as females, and asked _him_ mercy.

A throaty laugh shook him from head to toe while the cold of Stuttgart enveloped him in its icy mantle.

Cold, blood and darkness.

His childhood.

_His life._

There was no place for compassion into a being like him, there was no sympathy, sense of justice,_ forgiveness_, yet, even he had felt what his brother Thor called " love".

And it was surprisingly pleasant, unexpected, but enjoyable.

And exhausting.

Because now he felt the constant need, the burning necessity to be loved, to receive her love up to be filled by it, but she was not there, and the panic, the fear of not being able to find her before his brother irritated him.

He was not used to _love_ something, to want to_ protect_ someone, to feel _so much_, but now he just want to find her and embracer, smell, tighten her, hear her breathing against his neck and hear her speak.

_He wanted her_, because she made him feel better, worthy of being loved, and because she, she loved him with a disarming sincerity, a depth that only a love at first sight could have, and Loki knew that hers could be considered an imprinting.

Maybe he was the first living being that she had seen, the first to whom she had bound, and he love to think that way, to know that for her there would never have been anyone like him, that he would be the _one and only._

_Special_, he had never been it for anyone, and it was a satisfying feeling, a peace of mind to which he was not willing to give up.

And even if he could only count on himself, even if Thor could require help by an army of gods and human ready to fulfill his task, it would have been_ him_ to win this time.

The loneliness, the feeling of being alone in the world would not stop him, saddened him.

Perhaps a time, as a child, he had found the silence of his own soul depressing, dreadful, scary, _once_, but now he was a god, a King without throne that again the Justice would have tried to harness, imprison.

And even if he had lost in the past this time there was something different, the end would been different.

Because what he sought was not the war, not blood, not revenge, but her.

Only her.

She who had chosen him.

She who had warmed him.

She who had understood him.

When the roar of thunder rattled the pool of blood at his feet Loki could not help but be annoyed by it, because he had never liked thunders.

He hated them, always so bright, stupidly excessive, _so noisy._

But he had an ace up his sleeve.

_Trickery._

Because it was easier and more productive to put pressure on human's fear than on his _sense of justice, _he had understood it, and at the time it had amused him, therefore trick a handful of human being to instigate against Thor would be simple for someone like him.

A disfigured god, damned and mad, but a God who knew what he wanted, what was _his._

And she was.

His from the first glance.

His from the first breath.

His, his and no one else.

Continue…


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